


Drunken Bash

by KIKarchived (Krystalicekitsu)



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Crack, Drunken Orgy, Drunkenness, Dubious Alcohol Wisdom, Gen, Humor, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-24
Updated: 2007-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/KIKarchived
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three things became immediately apparent when Cid Highwind regained consciousness:</p><p>One, he had a mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch headache who brought along his friends Blurry Vision and Cotton Mouth to tell him that he had a hangover, or was still drunk.</p><p>The second made him do a double-take and let him know that, yes, he was indeed still drunk: there was a pants-less Sephiroth shamelessly doing some kind of jig in spike heals on top of Tifa’s bar.</p><p>The third was the fact that the music was the wrong kind for jigs and <i>fucking hurt, damnit</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Bash

Three things became immediately apparent when Cid Highwind regained consciousness: one, he had a mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch headache who brought along his friends Blurry Vision and Cotton Mouth to tell him that he had a hangover, or was still drunk. The second made him do a double-take and let him know that, yes, he was indeed still drunk: there was a pants-less Sephiroth shamelessly doing some kind of jig in spike heals on top of Tifa’s bar. The third was the fact that the music was the wrong kind for jigs and _fucking hurt, damnit_.

He groaned and sat up, a hand going to his head to help his cranium hold in his grey matter when he heard a drunk and entirely too chipper voice greet him, “Hey, beautiful. Enjoy your nap?”

The pilot turned stupidly to his right and blinked at a fuzzy blond spot with glowing blue specks, “huh?”

There was a sigh and the blond color bounced up and down in time, “I _said_ , ‘Hey, beautiful. Enjoy your nap?’”

He blinked stupidly and rubbed a hand across blurry vision to try and clear the cobwebs. He blinked again when the cobwebs did clear and wished to fuckin Gaia that they would come back, because Cloud Strife was sitting in front of him in a pink dress. Yes, Cloud- fucking- Strife, ex-SOLDIER, savior of the world (twice, mind you), most-definitely-male Cloud- fuckin- Strife.

The pilot blinked again and put his head in both hands when the image didn’t clear. 

“I need a fuckin drink,” he mumbled to his palms.

“Here,” there was a clunk and he looked up into a bottle of the strongest moonshine this side of Wutai. He downed half the bottle in one gulp.

“Oh, goody,” the once-again-blurry Cloud shape said, “Now we can continue!”

The pilot just managed a startled ‘huh?’ before his lips were captured by what he assumed was another pair of lips that tasted oddly (and strongly, _very_ strongly) of high test vodka.

Even through the alcohol and residual drunkenness Cid retained enough mind to mentally say ‘ _what the fuck?_ ’. But that was about it.

Ok, so he managed to pull away from (a surprisingly alluring) Cloud to repeat the question, only with much less gusto and much more stammering.

The glowing pinpricks blinked at him and replied evenly, “You weren't complaining earlier,” and the blurry image made a motion that made him look down at his lap. He squinted, and squinted some more. Finally the blurriness came into focus enough for him to tell that he'd gotten a blowjob some time that night.

He blinked, “Huh.” And looked back up to Cloud, “Was it good?”

The blond, sartorially-confused person smiled patiently, starting to tilt sideways on his bar stool, “Of course. The General requires the best from his army, Captain.”

The pilot blinked, looked down, back up and said, “Oh, that’s good.”

“Yes indeed,” was the very short response before his lips were claimed and a hand reached down into his pants…

* * *

“AHHHHHHH!” a very terrified Cid Highwind jolted up right from the bed in a panic.

“Sonova mother fuckin Jenova whoreing BITCH!”

From his right a pillow hit him and a very sleep deprived voice with the gunman’s distinct syntax told him to shut the hell up or Chaos would MAKE him.

From his left was another panicked scream, slightly higher pitched than his own.

The gunman's syntax abruptly changed as he sat up and bathed the room in the light from his glowing eyes, “Would you all shut the mofherin- motherfin- moterhin- ARGH! SHUT UP!”

Cloud’s voice came from his left, close to his left, far too close, really, “But Vincent! I had a really horrible dream, and you were in it! You dared me to have sex with every guy in AVALANCHE! _And I did it!_ ”

The sound of blankets shifting and a heavy body hitting mattress came from near the gunman, “Yeah, I had that one too. Good times.”

The universe stopped. Yeah, that’s right: stopped.

Tentatively the motions started again when the pilot ventured hesitantly, “And did you dream you were in a pink dress and gave me a blow job?”

This time, the universe stopped, and a small planet imploded. Maybe a star.

Then the three awake started speaking at the same time.

“motherfuckingsonofabitchrabidshinradogswithfangsandoedipuscomplexeswithgoddamnmotherfuckinETsconuterfucksfuckin…” from a quite distraught Cid.

“Iamtoooldforthis.thisisthelasttimeiletYuffieandTifaarrangepartyANYTHINGandthelasttimeiagreewithANYONEthatNebilheimisworesthanhellandicouldleavewithoutsomethingimploding…” as from Vincent.

“thicantbehappening,iloveTifa.butthenilovetheGeneraltooandialsoloveAriessohowcanilovethreepeople?andwhythehelldidihavetotakethatstupidbet?whatthefuckelsedidthatbastardprofessordoandwhencaniriphisdickoffandfeedittohimonaknife…” from poor Cloud.

They all stopped when another voice joined, smooth and controlled, “And here I was under the impression that I _couldn't_ get drunk. So _happy_ to be proved wrong.”

Cloud’s voice from his left again, “Oh, it’s possible. I remember Zack coming back from a party one night completely smashed. The next morning -or maybe it was the morning after that?- he told me he had to drink some concoction called a, a… what was that thing called, Zack?”

A groan and a sleep, and pillow, flavored mumble, “a Merry Robin.”

“Right, right. It was something like tequila, rum, vodka and rubbing alcohol mixed with Ruby Red Squirt and Coke. I tried it a while ago and man, I had three and Barret and Tifa -I think it was Tifa- yeah, they were dragging me up the stairs to bed.”

Cid’s eye began to twitch, “alright, THAT’S _**IT!**_ ” he turned to his right where he assumed (correctly, for once) that the light and nightstand were. He fumbled around a bit, knocking plastic packaging off, and fumbling through a few glasses, one of which he knocked over before slapping on the light.

The glow was dim, very dim, even for hotel lighting but it was bright enough for the pilot to wish he’d never turned it on. And he hadn’t even looked away from the night stand. Covered, absolutely **covered** , in condoms. Oh, they were unused, but the ones on the floor between the two beds weren’t. And such an array of packaging: cherry, grape, coconut and tequila -‘what the fuck?’- flavors were represented, although it seemed that strawberry was the predominating flavor. There were ones with ribs, ones that tingled when warm, some that warmed themselves and some that were pink that apparently, glowed in the dark.

Dreading what he might see, the captain of the most famous airship in history slowly lifted his eyes from the night table to stare into a pair of glowing crimson eyes. Which, as it so happened, were beginning to twitch. The pilot swallowed, hard. Oh yes, definitely a ‘gulp’ moment. And in more ways than one. Yes, the gunman looked ready to kill half the room, not that Cid was looking that direction just yet, but he also had his hair down, his head band off, and most important of all, no clothes on. And _damn_. What a fine lookin guy. But there was movement behind him that drew the pilot’s gaze and he felt his own eye begin to twitch. 

Vincent saw the look: “I don’t want to know. I just don’t want to know…”

It probably wasn’t as bad as the gunman thought. But the black, sexy ruffled head that poked its way over Vincent’s hip belonged to a swordsman, and an equally scrumptious swordsman at that. Eyes blurred with sleep were rubbed, “hey, Spike? What time is it?”

Cloud’s voice squeaked from his left, “t-twelve fo-forty th-three…”

Cid watched both Vincent's and Zack’s eyes widen and he turned to his left quickly, and stopped. There, at the foot of their bed (Cid’s mind was presently absent on just who the other half of ‘their’ was), was Barret Wallace. Naked.

To his left a shocked and quiet baritone voiced what was probably the sentiment shared by every other man in the room, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go insane again.”

Somehow, though brain dead, the pilot managed, “Before you go, could you kill me?”

* * *

Somehow, the entire gaggle of guys (except Barret who couldn't be woken up) managed to get dressed, cleaned up and scurried downstairs, all blushing furiously and not meeting anyone’s eyes. Even the ever-exuberant Zack was trying hard to pretend no one existed.

The group came down the stairs and stopped, for spread out all over the bar was the other half of the giant group. Tifa had managed to curl up on a table, using a roll of toilet paper as an impromptu pillow. The heir of Wutai, however, was propped somewhat-upright on a barstool, leaning precariously against the wall and sporting, among other things, a toilet paper crown, a lip ring, a marker moustache, bifocal and a lightning bolt above her right eye, in addition to paint up to her elbows.

Reeve, the president of the mightiest corporation in the world, was unconscious, face down, on the bar, drooling, with two cartons of eggs, one empty, one half empty, just above his head. Cait Sith was shut down underneath the bar, covered in paint spots, and the previously white moogle was a burnished sort of red, still dripping paint.

At his feet, well, more like half way up, Rufus Shinra was out cold on a barstool, his face buried in Reeve’s side. His pretty white jacket was coated in dried egg slime, and bits of shell were stuck in his hair.

There was a pile of blue suited men in one corner, further covered with paint, and all missing their coats, and ties. Tseng was missing his shirt and both he and Reno were unzipped. 

Cid started to get a sinking feeling when he saw a pink crumpled wad of sticky paper the size of a large basket ball off to the side. He ran outside, slamming the door, just as a groggy Yuffie noticed that the rest of the males were up, “hey S-Sido, wehr you goin…?”

Sephiroth, Zack and Cloud were all eating their fists in a vain attempt to stifle their laughter (all for different reasons, of course). Cloud was enjoying the sight of Tifa snuggling a roll of toilet paper, but when she sighed his name and snuggled it closer, he turned beat red, and Zack started to snigger louder. 

Sephiroth was thoroughly enjoying the sight of both prim and prissy Rufus and Tseng in their states of dishevelment, but got caught up laughing harder when Yuffie fell off her barstool, knocked over Tifa’s table, who’s flying toilet paper roll bonked Tseng firmly on the head. The Turk, startled awake, pulled out a gun from somewhere and shot randomly, somehow managing to hit the half full carton of eggs in front of Reeve, which exploded and startled him so bad, he rolled off the bar, and straight into Rufus’ lap. Rufus, now half awake, and with an extra hundred pounds in his lap, over balanced and fell backwards, managing to end up lip-locked with his sudden lap guest.

They both froze, finally awake, and blushed so much they could have camouflaged with Vincent's cape. They were both knocked out of their impromptu staring match when a click and a flash of light made their attention drift. They looked over, only to see Yuffie furiously clicking a camera.

Reeve turned, if at all possible, more red and scrambled off the Shinra prince, who turned a different kind of red and set off after the heir of Wutai, “YUFFIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

The little ninja giggled and ran around the room, just out of the executive’s reach.

And from outside they heard an ear-splitting, earth-shattering, soul-wrenching scream, “habahbn-n-n-n-nNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo…!”

The entire mismatched crowd scrambled outside, even as Rufus was still chasing Yuffie. But that stopped quickly as both stood in shock with the rest. Oh, hell, someone was going to lose a life, or two. Or four.

Cid Highwind’s lovely, much prized airship was missing it’s decal. But that’s ok; the space was occupied by dancing moogles. In fact, the entire ship was covered in moogles. 

Dancing moogles, singing moogles, ice skating moogles, moogles in underwear, moogles mooning each other, moogles in gangster poses, moogles that looked suspiciously like Godo, and there was a moogle Yuffie in heels that surely would have killed the heiress. There were moogles chatting on PHSs, a Reno moogle, who was being restrained by moogle!Rude and moogle!Tseng as he tried to go after a Cait Sith moogle who was giving him the finger. There was a Vincent moogle sunning himself in shades, sans cape. What looked like a Scarlet moogle was shoving someone in a closet and following after, and off to the side a Jenova moogle was being held aloft and skewered by a buster sword, an Ultima weapon and the Masamune. There was an Aries moogle that looked like it was about to grin itself into the grave and even a Rufus moogle who stood about in the background and smirked all self-important-like. A Hojo moogle was cowering off to the side as a vaguely moogleish Nanaki stalked him.

Someone’s eye twitched. A smothered giggle!snort attracted the attentions of one seriously ticked-off and almost mentally unstable pilot, who swung around so fast the group could see the grass around his feet (blotchily covered in paint) sway with the substantial breeze generated. Not that his speed helped him identify the culprit; most of the group had their hands pressed to their mouths in an attempt to restrain the same sort of sound that had attracted attention in the first place. The only ones (predictably) resistant to the general good humor pervading the air were the unshakable ex-Turk, the cool and collected Turk Lead and the General, who himself was a block of ice when need be.

The pilot floundered, sputtered, puffed out his chest till some thought he might explode and started cursing, “ _WHAT THE HELL DID YOU BASTARDS DO TO MY SHIP!?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG I SEARCHED FOR THAT DECAL?!?! YOU SONS OF BITCHES BETTER HOPE THAT COMES OFF OR I SWEAR TO GAIA THAT YOU WON'T LIKE THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE LIVES CAUSE I’LL PULL A FUCKIN HOJO ON YOUR ASSES AND THE ONLY PERSON THAT’LL GIVE A DAMN’LL BE SHINRA CAUSE YOU’LL BE SCREAMIN SO LOUD HE’LL HEAR IT FROM THE PROMISED LAND YA FUCKERS!_ ”

* * *

All went well in the end. It turned out that Yuffie, Cait Sith (who Reeve _swears_ was on autopilot), Tseng, Reno and Rude painted the dancing moogles (among other things) on Cid’s ‘baby’ and so were forced- I mean, threatened- I mean, volunteered into cleaning up the mess. Much to Cid's dismay, they paint was permanent. Extremely.

Ironically, the entire idea had been Barret’s, but he’d wanted to have everybody paint naked and tally up the paint splotches to see who could get dirty the fastest. 

Yuffie had approved of this idea and decided to help Cait out, thus the result: one rust orange giant stuffed moogle. The girls (as Tifa had decided that such a monumental job required a monarch’s guidance) had eventually gotten fed up with him as he tried to give them stripes across the but. The solution was to knock him unconscious and drag him up to the guy’s room and leave him there, still naked (this relieved many of the guys to no end, and Zack nearly fainted in relief).

Rufus and Reeve had decided that the only way to adequately determine who deserved the presidency was to see who had the most balls. They further determined this would be handled by how many eggs they could toss at Scarlet without her killing them. Of course, being drunk, they missed and hit some old lady who proceeded to chase them down the street with their own eggs.

So ended one hell of a party in Midgar.

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting some FFVII fic since I've now completely given up on the Pit.
> 
> Original AN read:
>
>> ha! omg, i have to tell you guys, that was the funnest fic i've ever written! i just loved writing the entire thing, trying to figure out who slept with who. in case you didn't get the pairings, here they are!:
>> 
>> Sephiroth/Cloud/Cid  
> Vincent/Zack  
> Nanaki, Yuffie, and Cait!Reeve were left to their own devices but,  
> Tseng/Rude/Reno was a happenin while Elena laughed and got more drunk (she left early on though)  
> Tifa was too busy proclaiming her ‘lordship’ over everything to do much of anything  
> And Reeve spent the night out egging Shinra property with Rufus
> 
> I am so so sorry.


End file.
